The Bald Ones
by ChrisR
Summary: Max goes undercover - or should that be uncovered? - to infiltrate the League of Bald-Headed Men.


My Get Smart stories are set during the 1970s - after the original series but before the reunions. Max and 99 are married, Thaddeus is still the Chief, the twins are sometimes mentioned but seldom seen. In other words, not much has changed - ChrisR.  
THE BALD ONES  
  
The sun shone bright on their old Kentucky . . . that is . . . Washington home. Inside their apartment, Mr and Mrs Maxwell Smart, aka Agents 86 and 99 of Control, sat enjoying a leisurely breakfast.  
  
"Would you like some more syrup on your pancakes, love?" 99 asked.  
  
"No, thank you, 99. They're perfect just the way they are." Max picked up the sugar bowl from the table and dumped a spoonful into his steaming cup.  
  
99 went to the foot of the stairs. "Children!" she called. "It's time to go to school."  
  
"Speaking of school," Max said, spooning more sugar into his cup, "how's your student coming along?"  
  
"Agent 224? She's doing very well," 99 replied. "As a matter of fact, I'll be taking her out on her first stakeout today. We're watching a building we think is a Kaos contact point but so far we haven't seen any Kaos agents there. I think it'll make a good first assignment for her."  
  
Max helped himself to yet another spoonful of sugar. "Do you need me to take the twins to school this morning?" he asked.  
  
"No, that's no problem, Max. The school is right on the way to the stakeout."  
  
Max poured one last generous spoonful of sugar then replaced the bowl on the table. He stirred vigorously then elaborately tapped the last drops of liquid from the spoon before lifting his cup to his lips and taking a sip. His face contorted in disgust. "Ugh!"  
  
"What's the matter?" 99 asked.  
  
"This coffee tastes terrible."  
  
"It's tea, Max."  
  
"Oh." He took another sip. "In that case it's delicious." He drank the rest of it down.  
  
A small boy appeared on the landing. "Come on, we'll be late," he called back over his shoulder, at the same time taking a step forward. He tumbled down the stairs head over heels before landing cat-like on his feet at the bottom. His sister, now at the top, shook her head resignedly. 99 gazed adoringly at the children as she followed the scene, while Max didn't appear to consider that anything out of the ordinary had happened.  
  
"I've got to go myself," he said. "I'll see you later, kids." He kissed 99 goodbye. Turning, he tripped over nothing and tumbled through the open door before springing upright and disappearing down the corridor.  
  
99 watched him until he was out of sight, smiling contentedly to herself.  
Max trotted down the back steps of the apartment building. As he rounded the corner to where he had parked his car, he was startled by a bright light. He stepped back around the corner and pressed himself against the wall while keeping an eye on his car. He allowed his eyes to adjust until he could make out that the light was the reflection of the bright morning sun off of a man's bald head. The man had the car's hood raised and was placing something inside which Max surmised to be a bomb.  
  
Max drew his gun. Walking slowly, he moved toward the bald man.  
  
The man saw him coming and pulled his gun also, but Max ordered him to drop it, firing a warning shot over his head.  
  
Max stepped the rest of the way to the man, keeping his gun trained on him. "All right," he demanded, "Tell me what you're doing here."  
  
The man said nothing.  
  
"So you won't talk, eh?" said Max. "Well, we'll see what happens when the Control Grill Team gets a hold of you."  
  
Max bent down to retrieve the man's gun. This proved to be a dangerous mistake; the man hit Max on the back of the head sending him sprawling and causing him to lose his own gun.  
  
In the ensuing fight, Max found himself easily outclassed as the man proved to be younger and more agile than his lack of hair would have indicated but he finally managed to gain victory through the use of judo and the manipulation of certain pressure points thereby causing the man to lose conciousness. This, of course, left the problem of how to move him. After a series of failed attempts to lift the man's inert form using a variety of techniques unknown to any paramedic, Max settled for rolling him back to the car and dragging him by his heels up into the backseat. Then, after collecting the two guns, and totally forgetting about the possibilty of a bomb, he closed the hood, got in behind the steering wheel and started the engine.  
Act I  
  
"This is the break we've been waiting for," said the Chief. "That man you captured is no ordinary Kaos agent. He's a member of the League of Bald- Headed Men."  
  
"The League of Bald-Headed Men?" Max repeated. "But they're the smuggling arm of Kaos. Why would they be trying to plant a bomb in my car?"  
  
"Fortunately for you, Max, that was just a prototype component for the new Neutron Bomb. It was stolen from the Pentagon last week. Obviously, he thought he was being followed and was trying to hide it before he was caught."  
  
"The new Neutron Bomb?" Max asked, intrigued.  
  
"That's right."  
  
"Does that mean there was an old Neutron Bomb?"  
  
"No, Max."  
  
"Then why did you call it the new Neutron Bomb? It's confusing to call it the new Neutron Bomb if there's no old Neutron Bomb."  
  
"I called it the new Neutron Bomb because it's a new bomb. It's new technology. Besides, I'm sure that if I'd called it just 'the Neutron Bomb' you would've thought I was talking about a 'new Tron Bomb'. The Chief laughed at the ridiculous notion.  
  
"A new Tron Bomb?" Max repeated slowly.  
  
"That's right. Do you understand now?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Except for one thing."  
  
The chief took a slow breath. "What is it?"  
  
"Is there also an old Tron Bomb?"  
  
"Max, there is not now nor has there ever been either an old Tron Bomb or a new Tron Bomb."  
  
"There isn't?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then why did you bring it up?"  
  
"Max, could we please just get on with discussing the matter at hand?"  
  
Max threw up his hands. "That's all I'm trying to do, Chief."  
  
"We've been trying to destroy the League of Bald-Headed Men ever since Winters and Sommers stole the Morris diamond and tried to smuggle it out of the country under Sommers' toupee."  
  
"Winters and Sommers," Max mused. "Yes, I remember now." He started. "They haven't escaped have they?"  
  
"No, they're still in custody but the League is still in action. For instance, there was a theft of rare old coins from the museum last year. They had a bald-headed man standing on every street corner selling lottery tickets for a bogus charity. The thieves paid for the tickets using the stolen coins. Then the League smuggled them out of the country by wearing them as campaign buttons during the election. Apparently, the customs inspectors didn't know that Julius Caesar and Ghengis Khan are no longer with us."  
  
"How do we know this, Chief?"  
  
"It's in all the history books, Max."  
  
"I mean about the smuggling."  
  
"Oh. Our prisoner talked."  
  
"He talked?" said Max in surprise. "He wouldn't say a word to me."  
  
"Well, it wasn't easy," the Chief explained. "We used drugs, hypnotism - every modern method of extracting information, but he still wouldn't talk. Then we found the one thing that he has no defense against."  
  
"And what's that?"  
  
"The direct question."  
  
Max squinted at him. "The direct question?"  
  
"Yes. Once he got started he told us everything he knew but unfortunately he's just a low-level operative so that didn't turn out to be very much."  
  
"He's a minor leaguer," Max said.  
  
"What?"  
  
"A minor leaguer," Max repeated. "You said he was a low-level operative and I said . . ." He trailed off. "Just a little joke, Chief."  
  
"Yes it was," the Chief replied. "Anyway," he went on, trying to regain control of the conversation, "he's given us enough information to have one of our men infiltrate the League so we can destroy it from the inside."  
  
"I'd like to follow through on this, Chief."  
  
"You're going to go into the League as a bald-headed man."  
  
"But not that far."  
  
The Chief began pacing the office. "According to the informer, the League is expecting a new member from Kaos Central. Now, they've never seen him so they don't know what he looks like. That should make it easy for you to take his place."  
  
"But I don't know anything about the League," Max protested.  
  
"That's all been taken care of, Max. I've called in Lt. Leo Kapok to brief you."  
  
"Well, who's he, Chief?"  
  
"You'll meet him in a moment." The Chief activated his intercom. "Larabee, send in Lt. Kapok."  
  
The sliding door hummed open. A tall, dapper man entered. He was dressed elegantly in a dark-colored suit. His bald head reflected the lights in the Chief's office.  
  
Like lightning, Max drew his gun. "Get away from me, Skinhead! Up against the wall! Get your hands up!"  
  
Kapok stared at him dumbfounded.  
  
"Max, what are you doing?" the Chief sighed.  
  
"Just arresting an infiltrator from the League of Bald-Headed Men, Chief."  
  
"Put away your gun, Max."  
  
"But, Chief, they've probably got the real Lt. Kapok held prisoner somewhere."  
  
"This is the real Lt. Kapok. How many times do I have to tell you? Just because a man is bald it doesn't mean he's a member of the League."  
  
"Sorry about that, Chief." Max pocketed his gun and shook Kapok's hand warmly. "Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant."  
  
"Max, Lt. Leo Kapok is on loan to us from the Newark Police Department. He is the world's foremost expert on criminal baldness." The Chief motioned for Kapok to speak.  
  
"Thank you, Chief." Lt. Kapok removed an engraved cigarette case from his breast pocket and opened it. Instead of cigarettes it was filled with lollipops. He offered the case to Max and the Chief. Max threw the Chief a questioning look but the Chief's face remained impassive. He politely declined the offer and Max followed his example. Kapok selected a bright green one and placed it in his mouth before replacing the case in his pocket. He continued to suck on the lime-flavored lollipop throughout the rest of the meeting.  
  
Next, Kapok reached into his jacket and produced a dog-eared envelope. He handed it to Max. "These photographs - " he began. He broke off as Max dropped the envelope. The photographs spilled out; they were all of bald men. Each consisted of a profile and full-face shot and each was stamped with a number.  
  
"You've got a very nice family," Max said politely, "but don't you think we should discuss the case?"  
  
"They are not my family!" Kapok protested. "These men are all known to be members of the League of Bald-Headed Men."  
  
The first picture was of a comparatively young man. His remaining hair was black and he wore glasses.  
  
"This is Lloyd Skinner," said Kapok. "He was the victim of a terrible childhood disease which resulted in the loss of most of his hair and causes him to speak in an unnaturally high voice. Out of bitterness he joined Kaos and has recently been transferred to the League."  
  
The next photograph showed a much older man. Little hair could be seen. What remained was snow-white. His scalp peeled from sunburn.  
  
"This is the League's specialist in strong-arm tactics. His name is George Albertson but he is better known as 'Curtains'."  
  
"That doesn't sound so tough," Max remarked.  
  
"It's from the phrase, 'It's curtains for you'," Kapok explained.  
  
"It makes him sound like an interior decorator."  
  
"He'll redecorate your face if it suits his purpose," the detective warned, "but his predilection is conducting third-degree examinations using light reflected from his head - what appears to be sunburn is actually from those strong lamps."  
  
"Be careful of him, Max. I don't want it to end up being curtains for you."  
  
"Don't worry, Chief. I know how to handle brutes like him."  
  
"How?"  
  
"I try to stay out of their way."  
  
In addition to the front and profile, the next photograph included a rear view as the subject's bald patch could only be seen from this direction. The rest of his head was covered in dark, close-cropped curls.  
  
"This is Rudy Offenhauser," Kapok told them. "He drives the League's escape vehicle. His bald spot focuses the light so that he is able to elude capture by blinding his pursuers."  
  
"Remind me to wear my sun glasses," said Max.  
  
"You won't be able to wear sun glasses," said the Chief. "As a bald-headed man, you'll have to appear to be used to the constant glare."  
  
"In that case remind me to make sure my health insurance is paid up. I'm going to need to get my eyes examined when this is over."  
  
"This is Moody Mulrooney, the League's adjutant," said Kapok, showing them the next picture. This man had a thin semi-circle of hair reaching from ear to ear. His eyes were sunken and beady giving him a cadaverous appearance and his nose curled down to meet his chin. "He is sometimes known as the Enforcer because of his habit of hitting out at anyone for no apparent reason. Some say it's just his method of maintaining discipline but our medical experts believe this moodiness to be a symptom of an unfortunate addiction to breakfast cereal - he is never without a bowl. As you can see, his mouth is malformed from eating it all the time. In fact, as well as being a Kaos agent, he's also wanted by the FBI as a cereal killer."  
  
"Mmm. I better check my life insurance, too."  
  
The man in the last photograph had a long, mean-looking face. He had thin strands of hair combed across the top of his bald pate.  
  
"We haven't been able to establish the identity of this man," Kapok said. "He's known to us only as The Cameraman."  
  
"Don't tell me," Max said, beginning to see a pattern, "he takes blackmail photographs by the light of his head."  
  
"Not exactly," replied Kapok, "but he is a photographer. Kaos agents are meticulous record-keepers. It's his job to document the League's activities for their archives."  
  
"Finding those photographs is crucial, Max," said the Chief. "They'll be irrefutable evidence that we can use in court."  
  
"I'll do my best, Chief."  
  
"That's all we can expect," Kapok said cheerfully. "Right, Chief?"  
  
"I'm afraid so," the Chief replied.  
  
Kapok collected the photographs and replaced them in the envelope. "You'll have to study these carefully, Mr. Smart. There are undoubtedly more but these are all we know about. Also, we don't know who the leader is - that will be part of your assignment. Now, do yo have any questions?"  
  
"Yes, Lieutenant," Max replied. "Have you ever considered a hair transplant?"  
Max stared at his reflection in the mirror. The Chief looked on as Max gingerly prodded his shiny new top.  
  
"You have a very unusually shaped head, Mr. Smart." said Ruby Helenstein, head of Control's make-up department. "You're lucky we had a bald wig to fit you."  
  
"I don't feel lucky," Max complained, moving his fingers down his scalp to the few tufts of hair protuding at the back of his head. "I feel ridiculous." He turned around to face the others. "You've got to admit - a bald head looks silly . . . er, nothing personal, Chief."  
  
The Chief glanced self-conciously up toward his own sparsely quilted dome. "Now, Max," he said, "here is the final part of your instructions so listen carefully."  
  
Max assumed a pose of deep concentration as the Chief continued.  
  
"The Kaos agent whose place you'll be taking is named Hoffmann. He's staying at the Capitol Hotel. You're to take two agents and arrest him. Then you'll stay there alone and wait for a telephone call which will tell you where to make contact with the League. Now, do you have that?"  
  
Max shook his head. "Not all of it, Chief."  
  
"Well, what part didn't you get?"  
  
"The part after 'listen carefully'."  
  
The Chief rubbed his forehead. "Max, remember: the League of Bald-Headed Men is a dangerous, mercilous group. If they discover that you're a Control agent, they'll kill you without a second thought. You'll be in constant danger from the moment you make contact."  
  
Max drew himself up. "And . . . loving it."  
  
The Chief nodded. He wondered why he seemed forever doomed to playing the part of Max's straight man.  
Max rapped on the hotel room door. A few moments later it opened, revealing a bald man wearing a tweed jacket and baggy pants.  
  
"Dr.Hoffmann, I presume," Max said.  
  
"Mr. Hoffmann," the man corrected automatically, realizing too late that he was giving himself away, "but I was expecting a phone call." He looked at Max suspiciously. "You aren't from The League."  
  
"No," Max agreed. "I'm from Control."  
  
"Control? What the - ?"  
  
"You're under arrest," Max told him. "Larabee, Henderson . . ."  
  
Max's two previously unseen companions stepped into view.  
  
"Right behind you, Max," said Larabee, suppressing a snicker. He entered the room and bound Hoffmann's hands while Henderson kept him covered with his gun. "Come on, Hoffmann," Larabee directed.  
  
"Just a minute, Larabee," said Max. "What do you think you're laughing at?"  
  
"Nothing, Max."  
  
"It's this bald wig, isn't it?" Max's jaw tightened. "I told the Chief a bald head looks silly."  
  
"You said that to the Chief?"  
  
"Yes, why?"  
  
"Well, that explains it."  
  
"Explains what?"  
  
"Why he ordered a rug instead of a carpet for his office."  
  
"Larabee?"  
  
"Yes, Max."  
  
"Get out of here."  
  
"Right, Max." Larabee joined Henderson in escorting Hoffmann from the hotel.  
As Max sat alone in the hotel room, he couldn't help hearing in his mind his old favorite Herb Talbot's hit song:  
  
"You see this guy This guy ain't got no hair Yes I am bald I look for it but it's not there Where to stop I can't tell And so I shave my head as well . . ."  
  
Finally the telephone in the room rang. Max answered it.  
  
Max: Yes?  
  
Man's Unnaturally High Voice: Is that you, Hoffmann?  
  
Max (sarcastically): Who were you expecting? Zbigniew Brzezinski?  
  
Voice: Good. That's the right password.  
  
Max (in surprise): It is? Oh . . . yes . . . (more assured) of course, it is.  
  
Voice: You're to meet me at the deserted warehouse at one-thirty-five Edgar Road.  
  
There was a loud click on the line as the man hung up.  
Max walked slowly into the warehouse, his footsteps echoing around him. Ahead of him, he saw a man enter through another doorway. Max recognised him from the photographs as Lloyd Skinner.  
  
The two walked toward each other.  
  
"Hoffmann?"  
  
"Yes," Max replied.  
  
"I'm Lloyd Skinner."  
  
There was no time for further pleasantries. A gunshot reverberated through the building and a voice commanded, "Nobody move!"  
  
A score of armed commandos stormed into the warehouse.  
  
Max heard a high-pitched giggle. He turned around to the direction of its source and saw the blond frizzy-haired rookie Control agent 224. She was pointing at his head.  
  
"Look at M-!" she cried before a hand was briefly thrust over her mouth  
  
Max stared when he saw at the head of the group, the owner of the hand, with a machine gun trained on him, 99.  
Act II  
  
"I'm terribly sorry, Chief," said 99, pacing the Chief's office and gesticulating profusely. 224 followed nervously in her footsteps. "As you know, we were watching that warehouse and when we recognised Skinner we made our move. I had absolutely no idea that that was Max until we got inside."  
  
On the word 'no' she pounded her fist down on the Chief's desk, hitting the edge of an ashtray. Fortunately, the Chief had had the foresight to hurriedly vacate his chair and so avoid the shower of ashes which rained down upon it.  
  
"It's not your fault, 99" he said. "There's no way you could have known he'd be wearing that bald wig."  
  
"But you'd think I'd be able to recognise my own husband!"  
  
"Don't beat yourself up about it, 99," Max said, putting his arm on her shoulder. "If I'd seen me there I wouldn't've thought it was me either."  
  
He was rewarded with one of those crooked half-smile half-frowns he had always found so appealing.  
  
"There's no harm done," said the Chief. "As a matter of fact, you may have done us a favor."  
  
99 brightened further. "A favor? How, Chief?"  
  
"It's really quite simple, 99," Max began. "You see, what you did will help us by . . . er . . . how, Chief?"  
  
"Well, the fact that you went ahead and brought them both in will do more to convince the League that Max is with them than anything else."  
  
"That's how, 99," Max told her.  
  
"When I realized that it was Max, I figured that he was under cover-"  
  
"Shouldn't that be 'uncovered'?" interrupted 224 impishly, her spirits having lifted along with 99's. She went off into peals of laughter; the others glared at her until she recovered.  
  
"Where's Skinner now?" Max asked.  
  
"We've got him locked up in Security," said the Chief. "He thinks that you're in another cell." He dusted off his chair and sat down. "Our problem now is to figure out a way to send you both back to the League of Bald- Headed Men without arousing their suspicions."  
  
"We can't just let them go," Larabee observed, demonstrating his sometime talent for grasping the obvious.  
  
The Chief eyed his longtime assistant with an odd mix of affection and disdain. "You're right, Larabee," he said. "We can't."  
  
"How would you handle this, 224?" 99 asked.  
  
"Well," 224 began tentatively. She looked at 99 and then, following her glance, directed her answer to the Chief. "I think we should set up an escape so Skinner will think they did it on their own."  
  
"Excellent," said the Chief. "That's exactly what we'll do."  
  
"Yes!" 224 exclaimed excitedly.  
  
"Chief, why don't we pretend to transfer them to, say, the Federal Detention Center and have them escape on the way?" 99 elaborated.  
  
"Good idea, 99," said the Chief.  
  
"Good idea, 99," Max echoed. "Wasn't that a good idea, Chief?"  
  
"I said it was a good idea, Max."  
  
"Well, I told you it was a good idea."  
  
"The Chief said it was a good idea first," 224 pointed out.  
  
Max paused. "Could we start again, Chief? I've lost track."  
  
"That won't be necessary, Max." The Chief reached for the telephone. "I'll arrange for an armored truck to transport you and Skinner to FDC and I'll instruct the driver to stall the engine in a quiet section of town. That will provide a disturbance so the guards can allow you to escape on foot without it appearing too obvious.  
  
"Larabee, you'll go along as one of the guards. Your gun will be loaded with blanks so that Max can grab it during the escape and kill you. That will impress Skinner. What do you think, Max?"  
  
"I like that part."  
  
"It won't work, Chief."  
  
"Why not, Larabee?" asked the Chief, sounding more cross than he intended.  
  
"Max would need real bullets to kill me."  
  
The Chief looked grim. "Don't think I haven't considered it."  
" . . . and then he fired again from two hundred yards and - bullseye! - he snuffed the funny-looking guard right out," Skinner squeaked. "And he seemed to be enjoying it."  
  
"Yes, well, I've always thought a man does better if he's happy in his work," Max said. He had been ushered into a large otherwise bare room with a platform at one end. On the platform was a gold throne (gold-plated actually). On the throne sat a very old man with a very pink, totally hairless head. He was wearing an appropriately royal blue robe with white fur trimming. Standing behind the throne was a solitary guard. He was dressed in chain mail and carried a semi-automatic rifle.  
  
"That's good!" declared the old man, nodding appreciatively. He spoke in a kind of wheeze as though suffering from some kind of bronchial condition."Skinner, introduce him properly."  
  
Skinner approached Big Charlie's throne, prodding Max ahead of him.  
  
"Big Charlie," Skinner said formally, "may I present Kaos Agent Hoffmann." He bowed low and indicated that Max should do likewise.  
  
"You may rise," said Big Charlie.  
  
"That's what you think," said Max. "I think my back is locked."  
  
Skinner hurriedly put a knee to Max's back and, with a loud crack, he straightened.  
  
"Hoffmann," Skinner continued. "this is Big Charlie - our leader."  
  
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Big Charlie."  
  
"Of course you are," said Big Charlie. He looked down from his throne, wrapping his robe about him, a golf cap perched incongruously atop his bald head. "So you're Hoffmann."  
  
"So you're the head of the League of Bald-Headed Men." Max chuckled aloud at this pun but received only blank gazes in return.  
  
"Yes," Big Charlie exhaled, "you're at my service. A sharpshooter will be a useful addition to my retinue. Mind you," he went on. "I'm quite handy with the old rod myself."  
  
"That's true," Skinner affirmed. "I've seen him practicing."  
  
"Would you like to see my personal weapon?" Big Charlie asked, opening his robe.  
  
Max took a step backward. "Well, er . . ."  
  
Big Charlie pulled out his massive Luger. "Here. Feel the weight of it."  
  
"Maybe later," Max demurred.  
  
Big Charlie replaced the gun in its holster and studied Max for a moment. "Tell me, with your great skill as a marksman, how is it that I have not heard of you before?"  
  
"Er," Max stumbled. "You haven't heard of me. Yes, well, ah, I've been stationed in -" He sought for a place that would sound convincing. " - Paris." he blurted.  
  
"Really? Then you must know my old friend Pierre Blancmange - he's Kaos regional director over there."  
  
"Oh, yes, I spent a lot of time with Piere Blancmange," Max lied. "Good old Pete," he mused. "That's what we called him."  
  
Big Charlie smiled broadly, his white teeth providing the only major contrast in his all-pink head. "Any friend of Pierre Blancmange is a friend of mine. You may call me Big Chuck - my friends do."  
  
"Well, thank-you, er, Big Chuck."  
  
"How is Pierre?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Pierre Blancmange. How is he?"  
  
"Er, he's fine - just fine," Max replied. "As a matter of fact he just picked up third place at the Kaos olympics so he's doing pretty good."  
  
Big Charlie raised his eyebrows - or would have if he'd had any. "But Pierre Blancmange is ninety-seven years old!"  
  
"Oh. Well, in that case, he's doing great."  
  
While Big Charlie was puzzling over this, Skinner, behind Max, stepped up to the throne. "Permission to speak, Sir."  
  
"Permission granted."  
  
"Would you like me to show Hoffmann around and introduce him to the other members?"  
  
"Fair idea, Skinner. Go ahead."  
  
Skinner bowed again and then turned to Max. "Come on, Hoffmann."  
  
"Hoffmann's tale is most impressive," breathed Big Charlie when Max and Skinner had gone. "And his arrival most fortuitous. I'm sick and tired of taking orders from those fools at Kaos Central and working out their petty smuggling capers. With another man in my service, I'll be one step closer in my plan to take command of Kaos and conquer the United States." His eyes glittered. "And it won't stop there," he vowed. "Today America, tomorrow . . ." He trailed off. "Dash it, how does the rest of that go?"  
  
"I think it's 'the world', Big Charlie," the guard ventured.  
  
"Is it? Oh, yes." Big Charlie regarded him fondly. He was a young man whose hair was just starting to thin. "You've been doing very fine work, Malcolm," Big Charlie told him. "You deserve to be rewarded."  
  
"Thank you, Big Charlie."  
  
"From now on, you may call me Big Chuck."  
Skinner led Max under an ornamental archway which led to a small vestibule. One of the walls was completely covered with doors. Skinner chose the second door from the right. Max followed him into a large room furnished spartanly with office furniture as well as other standard equipment such as thumb screws, wall chains and a rack.  
  
Turning around, Max was startled to discover that all the doors led into this room. He asked Skinner about it.  
  
"It's part of Big Charlie's protocol arrangements," Skinner told him. "We all have our own door according to rank. You'll be assigned your own door later. No one is allowed to enter by another door."  
  
"Doesn't that seem a little strange to you?"  
  
"No," Skinner replied pleasantly, "why?"  
  
"Well, for a start, think of the savings you'd make if you only had to oil one set of hinges."  
  
Ahead of them, a man with a long, mean face and thin strands of hair combed across his bald pate sat sharpening a huge carving knife. He grinned evilly as Max and Skinner approached.  
  
"This is one of Big Charlie's most important right-hand men," Skinnner whispered and then, when they got closer, he added aloud, "This is The Cameraman."  
  
"Yes, I know," Max replied, recognising him from his photograph.  
  
"You know?" The Cameraman snarled. Brandishing his knife, he rose from his seat, towering over Max.  
  
Max eyed the hairy hand which grasped the lethal blade. "Er, that is, I see. I mean, who else would you be?"  
  
The Cameraman appeared to be satisfied with this answer despite the absence of any visible photographic equipment and he adopted a friendlier attitude. "Who is this dog?" he asked.  
  
"This is Hoffmann," Skinner said. "Our new transferee from Kaos Central."  
  
Max could almost see The Cameraman filing this information away in his head as he sat down and, totally ignoring Max, reached for a spray-can of polish and went back to work on his knife. After a while, he put the knife aside and began applying the polish to his head.  
  
The loud bang of a door slam sounded behind them and Max turned around in time to see a bald man with a twisted mouth enter through one of the doors. He carried a large bowl with him and, as Max watched, he emptied several spoonfuls of its contents into his mouth before swallowing it all at once.  
  
"Moody Mulrooney," Skinner whispered.  
  
Moody tottered along on until came to a member who Max did not recognise. Although bald, the man had a beard which made him look as if his head was on upside down. Without warning, Moody's arm shot out and, with one blow, he clubbed the man to the floor.  
  
"What got into him?" asked Max.  
  
"I'm not sure," said Skinner. "I think it was corn flakes."  
  
There was a loud crackle as the loudspeaker on the wall came to life. A trumpet sounded through it and the loudspeaker switched off.  
  
"What was that?" Max asked.  
  
"The ceremonial call to arms," Skinner replied. "Big Charlie is summoning us all to the throne room."  
The League of Bald-Headed Men sat on bare wooden benches which had been brought in and arranged a respectful distance in front of Big Charlie's throne. Max sat next to Skinner in the front row.  
  
Big Charlie looked down at the group from his gold-plated throne. From above, the assembly resembled a huge sheet of bubble wrap. "Good afternoon, folk," he said, smiling toothily. "Now that we're all here," he began. "Just a minute! We're short-handed. Where's Pittman?"  
  
"He was carrying that prototype component of the new Neutron Bomb, Big Charlie, but he hasn't returned yet," Skinner said.  
  
"All right then, we'll proceed without him," said Big Charlie. He paused for effect. "Gentlemen, I am today announcing that the moment for which we have waited so long is finally upon us."  
  
A collective gasp sounded around Max as the League members simultaneously drew breath.  
  
"Now," he continued, indicating a large parchment scroll, "I have here the profile for our next mission. That component was only the beginning. Kaos has now assigned us to smuggle out the complete plans of the new Neutron Bomb. Naturally, they will expect us to turn them over to them, but our loyalties are now to a higher calling. With the new Neutron Bomb in our possession we will take what is ours by right and I will at last have the means to rule the world!" Big Charlie's voice rose several notes in pitch as he said this and he got so excited that his face brightened several shades of pink.  
  
The other members of the League burst into spontaneous applause and Max joined in, looking about him uneasily. There were shouts of "Hail Big Charlie!", "Hazzah!" and "Viva Le Charlie!".  
  
Big Charlie waited for the acclaim to die away and then motioned for quiet. He unfurled the scroll. "The plans are located at a secret base in Virginia. The Cameraman will take his micro-camera and photograph them - "  
  
"Now, look here, Chuck," The Cameraman interrupted.  
  
"That's Big Chuck to you," Big Charlie snapped. "In fact, just for that, you can go back to calling me Big Charlie."  
  
"But I was only going to say that I thought that the high-powered automatic camera would be better for this job."  
  
"Very well," Big Charlie replied angrily, "but mind that thing doesn't go off and blow your eye out." He referred back to the scroll. "As I said, The Cameraman will photograph the plans. He will then pass the film to Offenhauser and return here by a different route. Meanwhile, Offenhauser will conceal the film in a loaf of bread and drive it back across the border in a baker's van."  
  
Big Charlie rolled up the scroll and surveyed his audience. "Let's put on a good show!" he exhorted. And the cheering started up again.  
Max found himself a quiet, deserted room. He sat down on a chair and, leaning against a table, he removed his shoe-phone and dialed.  
  
Max: This is 86 calling Control. 86 calling Control.  
  
Chief: Control. Chief speaking.  
  
Max: It's me, Chief. Max. I'm calling from inside the headquarters of the League of Bald-Headed Men.  
  
Chief: That's great, Max. What've you found out?  
  
Max: Well, I've found out that The Cameraman has very hairy hands - I guess it must be nature's way of compensating.  
  
Chief: Never mind that, Max. What about his photographs?  
  
Max: Well, I've located his darkroom and he seems to have copies of all the pictures in his files. Will that help?  
  
Chief: Of course that'll help, Max. That's what you were looking for.  
  
Max: I thought it rang a bell.  
  
Chief: What have you learned about how the League operates?  
  
Max: They're a very strange group, Chief. They seem to have combined ancient medieval court procedures with modern-day technological equipment.  
  
Chief: What about the leader? Who's he?  
  
Max: Well, the leader is known as Big Charlie. He seems to be about a hundred years old - give or take a decade. He's got some plan to take over the world.  
  
Chief: They always do.  
  
Max: He sits in this big gold throne wearing royal robes and orders everyone around as though he was a king or something. And nobody ever speaks his last name. I think it's like some kind of law.  
  
Chief: He's a megalomaniac.  
  
Max: He collects megaphones?  
  
Chief: No, he's a megalomaniac. That means he's swollen up with his own importance. He's power mad.  
  
Max: Oh. Well, he's a mega- a meglo- he's what you said, Chief.  
  
Chief: What about this plan to take over the world? What is it?  
  
Max: Well, he's a bit vague on the details but it involves double-crossing Kaos and stealing the plans of the new Neutron bomb. He's sending The Cameraman to Virginia to photograph them and then Offenhauser is to smuggle the film back here. You better get some men over there to stop them.  
  
Chief: No, I think it would be better to let them get away.  
  
Max: I don't think you quite understand which side we're on here, Chief.  
  
Chief: Max, if we apprehended them at the scene, all we'd get would be those two but if we wait until they get back there, we can arrest the whole group and put the League out of business once and for all.  
  
Max: So, then, what you're saying is that if we apprehended them at the scene, all we'd get would be those two but if we wait until they get back here -  
  
Chief: Max!  
  
Max: Sorry about that, Chief.  
  
Chief: Now, we can't move in until we know the plans are being delivered. Otherwise we'll have no proof that the League has been engaging in espionage as well as smuggling. Now, Max, can you give me the location of the League's headquarters?  
  
Max: Well, Skinner blindfolded me because I wasn't allowed to know the exact address until Big Charlie gave me his O.K. but I know we didn't travel far enough to have left Washington.  
  
Chief: Do you still have your homing device in your other shoe?  
  
Max: Yes I do, Chief.  
  
Chief: Good. When the time comes, just activate that homing device. As long as you're still in Washington we'll be able to get to you quickly but be sure to activate it in advance to give us enough time to get there.  
  
Max: There's just one thing, Chief. I don't know when Offenhauser is supposed to get back with the film, but I think I can get Big Charlie to tell me. He seems to have taken a liking to me.  
  
Chief: Are you sure?  
  
Max: I'm positive. It'll be a cinch.  
  
Max broke off as he became aware that he was being watched. George 'Curtains' Albertson moved toward him, blood in his eyes.  
  
Max: Er, it may be a little more difficult than I thought.  
  
Curtains grabbed the shoe-phone from Max and threw it away, then he picked Max up bodily, pulled off his other shoe and threw it away too. Max stared after it unhappily.  
  
"You won't be making any more calls from here," Curtains grunted. He carried Max out through the door, seemingly without effort despite Max's struggles.  
Big Charlie glared down at Max. "So," he growled, "a Control agent. Well, there you are."  
  
"Yes," said Max, "and I'm not even bald!" He whipped off the bald wig. Moody Mulrooney took one look at the full head of hair and fainted immediately.  
  
"I suppose you know what this means," Big Charlie said.  
  
"I can't call you Big Chuck anymore?"  
  
"Worse that that, I'm afraid," Big Charlie said sadly. "You'll have to be disposed of permanently."  
  
Max snapped his fingers. "That was my next guess."  
  
"Skinner! Send for my official executioner."  
  
Curtains tugged on the sleeve of Big Charlie's robe. "With respect, Big Charlie," he said, "perhaps it would be better if I interrogate this rogue before we slay him. We might learn something useful to advance our cause."  
  
"That's a good idea," said Big Charlie. "Call me Big Chuck."  
  
"What about the executioner?" asked Skinner.  
  
"We'll forget about him," Big Charlie replied. "For now."  
Curtains dragged Max down a corridor to a rough wooden door marked 'dungeon'. As Big Charlie and the others followed, Curtains pushed Max inside and forced him onto a stone chair, locking his wrists and ankles into handcuffs embedded in the chair.  
  
Curtains threw two electric switches - first extinguishing an overhead light, then lighting a strong lamp attached to the chair behind Max's head. The light shone brightly over Max's head and onto Curtains' bald pate and was reflected back onto Max's face. Curtains expertly angled his head to direct the beam into Max's eyes and keep it there if he struggled.  
  
"First, tell me which of our members is known to Control."  
  
"According to the Geneva convention, all I'm required to tell you is my name, rank and serial number," Max pointed out.  
  
"We don't subscribe to the Geneva convention." Curtains sneered.  
  
"Then you're not getting that either." Max retorted.  
  
"What have you done with the real Hoffmann?" Curtains demanded.  
  
"You're wasting your time, Albertson. You'll never get anything out of me."  
  
"We'll see about that," Curtains growled. "How would you feel about a little pain?"  
  
"Not too thrilled," Max admitted.  
  
"Those manacles are connected to an electric power line," Curtains told him. "I merely adjust this dial and I can give you anything from fifty to fifty thousand volts."  
  
"Your power bill must be incredible," said Max.  
  
"It is," Curtains agreed, "but it doesn't matter."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"We don't pay it."  
  
"Oh." Max considered this briefly. "Well, be that as it may, I'm still not talking."  
  
"I think a small burst of electricity will loosen your tongue," Curtains said happily. He held his hand poised over the button. "You'll get a charge out of this."  
  
He pressed the button.  
  
Max felt the surge of power go through his body. He shook all over. His tongue hung out.  
  
"How do you feel now?" Curtains asked with mock concern.  
  
Max worked his jaw before speaking. "This is better than a sauna," he slurred, shaking his head and blinking his eyes, "I think I just lost ten pounds."  
  
Curtains seemed agitated; this was not the way his interrogations usually progressed. "You don't appreciate the seriousness of your situation!" he spluttered, his exasperation boiling over.  
  
"It's not good for you to work yourself up like that," Max told him. "Have you tried meditation?"  
  
Curtains fairly shook with indignation. "This is impossible!" he shouted. "I'm going to finish you off right now!" He turned the dial all the way up to fifty thousand volts.  
  
Max braced himself for the shock. None came. He opened his eyes and was surprised to find that he was all but forgotten as the League members turned their attention to a figure entering through the door on the far wall. Someone put the room light back on. From the front, the loudly- dressed man didn't appear to be bald but Max knew he had a bald patch at the back.  
  
"Offenhauser! You're back!" cried Big Charlie joyously. "Do you have the plans?"  
  
"Yavol, Mein Commandant!" replied Offenhauser in a thick German accent. He waved a tiny object in the air. "Und I haff great pleasure in delivering zis microfilm into your hanz."  
  
Max watched sadly as Big Charlie took the roll. "Now before we celebrate our victory, we have one last matter to be dealt with. Curtains - push that button!"  
  
Again, Max braced himself, but instead of the click of a button he heard a familiar voice.  
  
"Everybody stay right where you are! This is a raid!"  
  
Max looked up. "Chief! Boy, am I glad to see you."  
  
"You! Don't touch that button," the Chief warned. His orders were backed up by a sqaud of armed Control agents including Larabee and Henderson as well as 99 and 224.  
  
"Listen to me, Curtains," Big Charlie commanded. "Press the button."  
  
"Don't touch that button!"  
  
"This is your leader. Press the button!"  
  
"Don't!"  
  
"Press it!"  
  
Curtains wavered back and forth then moved his finger to the button.  
  
Larabee fired. Nothing seemed to happen. But the momentary delay was all 99 needed to dash forward and deliver a karate chop to Curtains' neck. Curtains collapsed and lay motionless.  
  
"Are you all right, Max?"  
  
"Thanks to you, 99. Curtains has this thing set to Extra Crispy."  
  
99 went through Curtains' pockets and came up with a key which she used to unlock Max's handcuffs. Max stood up and the two embraced.  
  
"Larabee! What happened?" the Chief demanded. "How could you miss at that range?"  
  
Larabee looked confused. "Weren't we all shooting blanks?"  
  
"Not all of us!" 224 piped up. Her trademark giggle filled the room.  
  
"224!" 99 chided her protegé. But she too was unable to prevent a smile from playing at the corners of her mouth.  
  
The Chief sighed. "Well, it's better this way anyway. We need him alive for questioning. All right men, get them out of here."  
  
Outnumbered, and shaken by Curtain's fall, the remaining members of the League of Bald-Headed men allowed themseves to be disarmed and herded away.  
  
"Hold on there, Charlie, I'll take that," said the Chief, relieving him of the microfilm.  
  
"That's Big Charlie," he said stiffly.  
  
"That's Goodbye Charlie," 224 pronounced with a grin.  
  
He looked down his nose at her. "Nothing matters," he said enigmatically, maintaining a dignified bearing even as he was handcuffed and, with a revolver prodding him in the back, moved outside.  
  
"Are there any more, Max?" the Chief asked.  
  
"No, Chief. Only The Cameraman."  
  
"Oh, we got him. After you alerted us we picked him up trying to slip back across the state line."  
  
"How did you find this place, Chief? And happen to arrive in the nick of time like that?"  
  
The Chief shrugged. "We just followed the signal from your homing device as we arranged," he replied. "It went on just after I spoke to you."  
  
"But I didn't send any signal," Max told him. "I don't even have my shoes." He pointed down at his feet where his left pinky-toe was peeping out from a hole in its sock. 99 made a mental note to add socks to her shopping list. "Curtains Albertson overheard me talking to you and threw them away. I guess he thought they were both telephones." His eyes widened in realization. "Chief! Curtains must have activated the device when he threw my shoe on the floor."  
  
The Chief nodded. "How ironic. Because of his own actions it's curtains for the whole League."  
  
"What'll happen to them now?" asked 224.  
  
"I'd say they'll each be getting a long prison term. Except for Moody Mulrooney, of course. He'll probably be judged incompetent to stand trial because of his cereal addiction and be sent to a rehabilitation center."  
  
"You know," Max said wistfully, "in a way it's kind of a shame. All this could have been avoided."  
  
"How, Max?" 99 asked.  
  
"If only they'd used their heads."  
  
When Max didn't continue, 99 and the Chief looked at each other.  
  
"For goodness instead of evil, you mean?" 99 suggested.  
  
Max looked puzzled. "Well, I wouldn't put it exactly that way, 99."  
  
99 smiled. "Come on, Max. Let's go pick up the kids."  
The End 


End file.
